


the Body and the Earth

by cobblepologist



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Coda, Coercion, Dreams, Fear, Hypnotism, M/M, Missing Scene, Rhyming, Villains, idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 08:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobblepologist/pseuds/cobblepologist
Summary: Jonathan has been every venomous creature at one time or another. Toxic. Death before dishonor, as they say, when looking at the Scarecrow. And yet, if Jervis had heeded every warning, the stamps on the box labelled Jonathan Crane, the "do not touch" and "dangerous," would he have seen the ones saying "fragile" and "handle with care?" No.A tiny vignette based on 4x16.





	the Body and the Earth

There are other ways to hurt himself. That is what keeps him going in Arkham. The promise of freedom, and the pain that comes with it. To break the spell that families leave behind.

He has this dream, where he's standing in a cornfield. It stretches on forever, and he chases after Alice, until she falls into hole he comes upon, a great gaping chasm to the pit of the earth. It is yards and yards across, and it must be the only clearing here. On the other side is a figure on a stick, towering needlessly in the air. A scarecrow. His head is lolled to the left, but with Jervis' eye contact, he lifts it, staring back at him. The ground beneath his feet begins to crumble, but he doesn't fall down to Wonderland. He stays stuck there, staring at the scarecrow.

These dreams cause him to wake up in cold sweats. In these moments, he wishes he could speak to Jonathan, ask him why he was so afraid of the scarecrow when he first came to Arkham. In the mornings after, however, he always thinks better of it. It is better if they do not talk.

There is a stillness in the air that reeks of anticipation. They cart him out the the yard to exercise sometimes, with a muzzle over his mouth like an animal. Jerome is not there. Jerome is never there, not after what happened with the Penguin. His only solace is Jonathan, who laughs when he sees him.

"I think I like you better like this," he says. "Makes you much easier to deal with."

Jervis glares, sitting hunched over at the bench.

"It's okay. You know it will happen soon. And we need that pretty voice of yours to be ready." He looks westward, towards the fence. To the skyline. A storm threatens to engulf Gotham, clouds materializing to blot out the buildings and make them little more than hazy splotches. "Dreadful weather."

* * *

 

There are these seldom moments where they are alone. Alone they are not, but Jerome is far enough away that what they say does not matter. Not to think ill of the half-dead, but there are conversations he wants to have with Jonathan that do not involve comedy whatsoever.

(It is the feeling of dipping his fingers into honey pulling at the strings of his puppets see Jack run pulling out all the memories like tiny toy soldiers marching down the avenue march hare and white rabbit the clown laughs and sheds a silent tear where will we go in the cold of winter like the little matchstick girl will the city be so kind to allow them rest or will it reach in and grab the things that the Hatter keeps from his friends their secrets and their obsessions and their autonomy?)

They are traversing down a Gotham street, one among many. It will be a big night. They must disband soon. "What are you afraid of, Mr. Tetch?" Scarecrow is not facing him, but his voice rises like bile to Jervis' ears.

He's silent. "I'm afraid my fear has already been realized, once my dear Alice became compromised."

"Alas, Alice," Scarecrow drawls. "And those you have hypnotized."

Somehow, that manages to draw a smile from him. "We must start the game, Mr. Crane." Jerome winks at them from the distance, having stopped walking to inspect the handiwork of a cultist on the side of a building.

"Mice and men, we are not," Jonathan responds. "Monsters, however..."

(The key falls and the three knaves fit themselves through tiny doors, the Hatter holds carefully to the Scarecrow and the Jester laughs and he finds nothing wrong with this gesture, and they are outside, they have always been outside where the light is dead and the city is high and the streets reek of Alice and Alice's death, of the fragile and lonesome things one must carry, soft and small in one's hands, but the Scarecrow turns and even though he cannot seen his face has never seen his face, the Hatter can tell he's smiling.)

He prefers Alice in Wonderland, but Jonathan is from Oz. The Cowardly Lion in the visage of the Scarecrow. Jonathan tells him that they called him Ichabod, but he doesn't care, doesn't care. There are no horses, but there are headless men. A clown cackles over them, movements ecstatic. His mouth hurts just looking at him. Jerome raises a hand to each of them. _All the world's a stage_ , his hands sing out of tune. The dear sweet Jabberwock shifts to the side.

* * *

 

Jervis imagines every vial on Scarecrow's fingers says "drink me," and he thinks of mixing it in with his tea. Tick tock.

Jonathan has been every venomous creature at one time or another. Toxic. Death before dishonor, as they say, when looking at the Scarecrow. And yet, if Jervis had heeded every warning, the stamps on the box labelled Jonathan Crane, the "do not touch" and "dangerous," would he have seen the ones saying "fragile" and "handle with care?" No.

This is what enters his mind when Jerome and Jonathan enter his van. This is what he feels when Jerome takes the wheel, and the pile of rags he so knows sits down next to him.

"Have you ever been rescued before?" Scarecrow is quieter now, but Jervis isn't sure how to respond. He fixes his hat, and Jonathan goes on. "Nevermind. I just thought you'd like it. With you and all your fairy tales."

"No, I..." For once, it's difficult for him to think. On the brink. Time. Rhyme. "I apologize, I must express my gratitude. Without you and Jerome, it would be just me and my solitude."

Scarecrow directs his gaze downwards. Jervis wishes he could see what he sees, through the looking glass, examine every spot and speck that seems to cloud his vision.

He takes off the glove, mindful of the needles, and Jervis examines his hand, the lines on his fingers and the little grids they form. Crisscrossing like highways and interstates, like lightning. Jonathan had told him how it feels like bugs crawl under his skin, and weeks later, reverently, _I was wrong. It's wheat. Wheat shifting under my skin._  He thinks about this as he holds Jonathan's hand in his, brings it closer to his sight, turns it to see the back.

(What could he be looking at?)

Jonathan does not question it, and Jervis cannot tell if he is confused or apathetic. He does not ask, does not apologize, just forces his fingers into the space between Jonathan's own and brings their hands down gently.

The only fear he has is that all of Jonathan is contained in those little syringes. That every time he uses them, a piece of his soul escapes on exhalation. Like ghosts.

He realizes know that Jonathan can see ghosts, and sitting there, next to him, he thinks he's beginning to see them too.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this directly after 4x16, but i just reread long halloween n remembered how interesting these two are together. i don't know why but i think they complement each other well and i love when they're together in any sort of media.


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